


Allowances

by cadastre



Series: if needs must [2]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, But Not Much, Canon Era, Dubious Consent, F/M, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Schofield, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Pre-Canon, References to Knotting, Reluctant Sex, Self-Hatred, Sex, Whump, duty to the nation vs preference of the individual, like very dubious, so very much whump, well maybe a little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadastre/pseuds/cadastre
Summary: "When William Schofield answered the call, he did so under the implicit understanding that, although he would be away for long periods of time, reasonable accommodations would be made.  His folly was in believing that meant that, even for one such as he, there would be allowances."-fraternité
Relationships: William Schofield/Original Male Character(s), William Schofield/William Schofield's Wife
Series: if needs must [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155560
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Allowances

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet based, with the author's permission, on the excellent fic [fraternité](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710627/chapters/65157082) (if you haven't read it, go! do it now!). Thank you for letting me play with your characters and premise (and for your marvelous story telling)! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Un-beta'd; all errors are my own. If you're worried about any of the tags, see end of work for additional notes.

Will’s first letters home were filled with patriotism and pride at serving king and country. Pride at finally being able to prove his worth.

Will secretly hopes sometimes that Ellie has thrown them away; he is certain she hasn’t (he knows her far too well to think she would ever get rid of any of their correspondence). But the thought of his initial enthusiasm, his naïveté, turns his stomach now.

That, and the thought of how he concluded each one: “I cannot wait until we are again reunited.”

It’s not an embarrassing sentiment, in of itself. But every time he thinks of it, he remembers what was in his mind when he wrote it. He remembers the cheerful anticipation of his next heat, when he would return to Ellie so she could care for him.

He was a fool to believe that that was ever a possibility, Will now thinks bitterly.

\-----

Will remembers thinking himself lucky that his first heat was due to arrive before the end of his training.

Will can feel it approaching, as they do countless hours of drill and target practice and marching through the early winter mud. He welcomes the subtle shifts he can feel in his body, the delicate way his scent starts to change, the way the smells around him become simultaneously sharper and duller in his nose, the almost unnoticeable way his body temperature begins to increase.

It means a break, a chance to see Ellie once more before being deployed. Sure, they will dock his pay for a few days, but his heart aches to see her. The heat means a final chance to feel her hands upon him before he goes to risk his life, a final comfort to hold onto until the next heat sees them reunited again.

Male omegas are rare enough that he is never actually told what to do when a heat is coming. Will didn’t bother to ask when he enlisted; he had assumed that he would be told once training began. But no instructor has yet mentioned it, and as the clock begins to run out he finds himself growing increasingly anxious and uncertain about how to secure leave for his heat.

He has less than a week left until it hits when he finally goes to talk to the sergeant.

The sergeant is neither a kind nor an accommodating man, and from the moment Will approaches him outside the barracks at the end of the day he looks like he would dearly like to assign him additional cleaning duties in response to being asked for a moment of his time.

The sergeant’s initial reaction to Will’s question of how to request leave to go home for his heat is surprise, followed swiftly by indignation: “What do you think this is, the Girl Guides? That you can just go home whenever you want?”

Will’s reaction to the sergeant’s anger is utter confusion and then faint unease that begins to grow and twist behind his ribcage. “But I was told there would be allowances for omegas,” Will remembers choking out, barely tacking on a belated, “Sir.”

The sergeant’s ferocious scowl tells him all too well exactly how much weight the guarantee of _allowances_ carries, and with dawning horror he knows instinctively that he is about to be told _no_.

“Aye, your allowance is time off to work through it. If you can find someone to help you through it he’ll be granted time too. Pick a man. Otherwise notify me and I’ll do it myself. Omegas in the Army—who would’ve ever thought we’d be so hard up?”

Will doesn’t remember the sergeant leering at him, but that may simply be because he remembers nothing of the moment beyond the sensation of having all the air abruptly stolen from his lungs: the dawning horror, the feeling of not being able to breathe.

Will stumbles away, somehow makes it to the area behind the washhouse that is usually deserted, ducks between two shrubs against the wall and crouches down with his head in his hands. All of a sudden, the pre-heat changes he can feel starting to bloom are no longer welcome; each one feels like an individual betrayal by his aberration of a body.

It’s not the first time he’s known the feeling of self-loathing. His first heat when he was sixteen hit like a ton of bricks, and when the tide had finally ebbed he was not sure he ever wanted to leave the house again. The terror of losing control like that for the first time, and the knowledge afterwards that he would never truly have control again, stalked him until his marriage to Ellie. _Ellie, who loves him despite what he is, who has only ever whispered endearments in his ears as he begs her to fuck him, to fill him, who has never loved him one iota less for the regular betrayal by his body._ But just because Ellie is kind doesn’t mean that anyone else will ever be, and it certainly doesn’t make him any less of a failure as a man, doesn’t make him any less of an omega.

And now he is trapped.

Will finds himself crouched, frozen, behind the washhouse, staring blankly through the bushes that conceal him at the wall of the building opposite.

He will not get to see Ellie. _I must find someone here to help me_ , Will thinks, a touch hysterically. He must pick someone with whom he can betray his wife, must pick someone with whom he can debase himself and whose eyes he can then avoid every day in the mess hall.

He will have to write to Ellie and confess the choice he is going to have to make; he will not even have time to get her reply before he betrays her and his wedding vows.

 _And this will not be the only time_ , he realizes as a misty rain begins to fall and soak through his uniform. _For as long as I am here, my body will belong to the Army_. He doesn’t leave the safety of his hiding place until dusk begins to fall, until he is thoroughly damp and can blame his shaking on the cold instead of his grief, until he is so chilled that he can barely sense the faint warmth blooming through his body from his upcoming heat.

\----

Will lies awake all night, trying to pull his thoughts into order, trying to internalize the fact that in a few days he will be at the mercy of his heat with one of the sleeping figures around him. It feels like some sort of a nightmare, and he can still barely believe it is happening. But his belief is irrelevant, he reminds himself: he has to figure out someone to ask to help him, and time is of the essence. He has perhaps four days until the heat truly begins to hit.

He wishes he had asked the sergeant earlier. He has not looked at any of his fellow soldiers as potential—as potential partners in this—and now he has very little time to determine who he should ask.

He knows with absolute certainty that he does not want _any_ of them.

 _I want **Ellie**_ , he thinks bitterly before angrily brushing his tears away. It is useless to want Ellie; he cannot have her no matter how much he wants (needs) her. But he cannot stop the thought that follows immediately after, or the fear he feels gnawing at his heart: _How will she ever forgive me?_

\----

The next morning at breakfast he surreptitiously tries to take stock of his possibilities, fiercely ignores the hollow ache in his chest as he does so. Haywell, down the bench, cracks jokes regularly about omegas that make Will’s hackles rise: he is no option. Jacobs, to Will’s right, is married and seems devoted to his wife: Will doesn’t want to ruin another marriage beyond his own. A brief flush of grief makes him almost choke on his porridge, but he tamps it down and forces himself to continue his thoughts with clinical dispassion. Smithson, to Will’s left, is kind but is a beta: he will not do. Henry Plackett, across the table, is cheerful and seems to like Will well-enough. Will pauses in his inventory. He has never seen Henry be anything but patient; he helped young Thompson when he kept jamming his rifle and made sure that no one teased him in the mess afterwards. It is with some resignation that Will decides: Henry will do, if he can get him to agree to help.

Will spends the entire day trying to find a way to get Henry alone. Henry is as busy as the rest of them, and training leaves them with almost no private time. But eventually, after their final meal in the evening, Will manages to catch him by the mess hall.

Henry is initially confused when Will asks him to speak alone for a moment, but agrees readily enough. When Will explains the situation, as they smoke a cigarette behind the washhouse, he listens without comment.

“I hadn’t thought you were an omega,” Henry finally says, curly red hair damp from the near-constant rain. It isn’t meant cruelly, but it still grates against Will’s soul. _Of course you didn’t think it_ , Will longs to snap as he catches Henry’s scent and the interest it broadcasts. _Because everyone assumes omegas are timid and delicate and also women and I’m none of those things. I’m a better shot than you, or anyone else here_. Instead, Will stands quietly and looks past the rainwater dripping off the eaves and lets the tobacco smoke curl out of his mouth.

Henry takes a moment to continue. “Aren’t you married?”

It’s a punch to the gut, and some of the hurt of it must show on his face because Henry reaches out a hand and pats him on his shoulder. Will desperately wants to slap his hand away but doesn’t because Henry’s just trying to be kind and because he needs his help. Instead he drops his head and nods miserably.

“I’m sorry she can’t help you through it,” Henry says gently as he removes his hand and leans back against the weathered wood boards of the wall. He takes another drag on his cigarette, and nods to himself as if coming to a decision. “If it’ll help, I’ll do it.”

Will lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, his lungful of air misting away in the cold air. There it is: at least this one thing has been sorted. At least he knows whose gaze he’ll be avoiding in the mess hall this time next week. At least he knows whose hands will be on his hips, who will be listening to him beg to be fucked. The thought of it simultaneously makes him blush and makes him want to retch.

“Thank you,” he says instead, cheeks still hot, not meeting Henry’s eyes properly. “I’ll tell the sergeant. It’ll probably start on Monday.”

\----

It does indeed start Monday around mid-afternoon.

They’re doing target practice. Will is shooting much, much worse than he usually does, his mind slowly filling with the haze of the heat, his hands shaking with it. He feels so _empty_ , feels restless with the gaping need that’s starting to wake inside of him. _You need to find Ellie_ , a relentless part of his brain whispers, a part that he can’t shut off and can’t shut out. _Or if not her, someone, **anyone**_.

He knows he should tell the sergeant that it’s begun, that he’s peaking, but doing that will require him admitting it’s _real_ , that he’s about to go through his heat without Ellie. And he simply—can’t bring himself to do it.

It’s after his third or fourth time missing the target entirely that the sergeant steps forward to yell at him. Will can see the moment his scent hits the sergeant’s nose: his eyes, previously narrowed in bullish anger, grow wide and his pupils dilate.

“Private Schofield, Private Plackett, follow me,” he barks after a pause, and helplessly Will shoulders his rifle and trails after.

“I trust you both know what this is about? Good, go to the medical station and they’ll get you sorted.” The sergeant scents the air once more and then turns and walks back to the other soldiers with a shake of his head and a scowl.

Will tries to swallow against the dryness in his throat as he and Henry march off. Will looks anywhere else than the other man’s broad shoulders and back that promise enough strength to hold him down and bring him the satisfaction his body is crying out for, breathes as shallowly as he can so as to not catch the enticing alpha scent. He is caught in the feeling of being in a dream, a nightmare, as the imperative of his heat begins to make him lose track of the world around him.

Will’s recollection of the exact sequence of subsequent events is a little spotty. He remembers being in the medical station, but isn’t entirely sure how he got there. He recalls an orderly pressing a vial of oil into his hand; that same orderly turning to Henry and explaining something or other before chivvying them both off to a private room at the back of the ward.

He remembers Henry stripping off his own kit before turning to help Will with his. He remembers the _wrongness_ of the other man’s fingers undoing his buttons when his hands shake too much to do it himself, despite the gentleness in his hands as he helps Will strip off his tunic and puttees. He knows he flinches when Henry goes to help him with his trousers, and he remembers how Henry murmurs to him until he calms down and lets him pull the trousers off. Henry’s proximity fills his nose with the scent of alpha, and it’s exactly what Will’s body desires but his mind is screaming at him that _it isn’t right_. It’s a bit of a blur from there.

He knows Henry helps him into the bed and he is naked ( _why is he naked? Where is Ellie? This is wrong, everything is **wrong**_ ) and his body responds happily enough to the feeling of warm skin on his own. He recalls arching up to increase their contact, remembers Henry’s pleased rumble in his ears that makes him burn with need. Henry opens him roughly ( _Ellie was always gentle: this is wrong, it is **wrong**_ ) and gets enough oil to make sure nothing is damaged, but it’s still not really enough. He can feel Henry’s impatience. None of it prevents him from crying out in pleasure when Henry pushes in and begins to move. And by the time Henry is knotting himself in place Will has forgotten the wrongness of all of it, and is only aware of how much he _wants_ this, wants the body over him, the cock filling up the emptiness inside of him, every last bit of it.

Will loses track of how many times they fuck. When it’s over, Henry smiles at him as he pulls on his uniform and says, “Alright there, Schofield? If you need me I’ll be in the mess hall later,” before leaving. Will hates the how he can’t meet Henry’s eyes, hates the note of possessiveness that he hears (imagines?) behind the words. As he gathers his own kit and pulls on his clothes he tells himself: _You asked Henry for this, he only did it to help you._

Will is wrecked and looks it, he knows from the glances the orderlies give him. They are so kind as to allow him to use one of the private bathrooms in the infirmary to wash some of the shame off. He’s exhausted and stiff from being buggered repeatedly without as much prep as he’d like. He can’t stand to glance at himself in the shaving mirror in the bathroom: he does not want to see the look he is certain is in his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about how when the war is over he will have to meet Ellie’s eyes with the knowledge of what just happened in his heart.

It’s a mercy that the orderlies give him as long as he needs in the private bathroom, because it takes him at least an hour to get himself under control and presentable enough to leave.

\-----

He spends a few nightmarish days thinking about little else than the memory of Henry’s hands on him and the noises he knows he made, avoiding Henry’s eyes and Haywell's crude jokes during meals and training, and waiting for Ellie’s response to the terse note he sent her days earlier.

_My dearest Ellie,_

_It is with great regret that I write to you. As you know, ~~my heat will~~ we had planned on seeing each other before I depart for France. I have been informed that the Army will not ~~be sending~~ be able to send me home to you. I have instead ~~been forced~~ ~~been ordered~~ been told that I must avail myself of one of my fellow soldiers for assistance._

_It is not a choice I make willingly, but because my duty requires it. Please know that if the choice were my own I would be home with you. I hope you will be able to understand, and to forgive me._

_Yours, and only yours, now and forever,_

_Wm._

He feels wretched, and knows that he deserves to feel wretched. And, worse, he knows that no matter how miserable he feels it will not bring Ellie any less pain.

So it is with some trepidation that he eventually opens Ellie’s note when it arrives the following week.

_My beloved Will,_

__

_I was most distressed to receive your note. Have you made it through safely? Are you faring well? I recall all too well how much of an ordeal ~~your heats~~ your condition can be, and the thought of you having to suffer throughout it with some stranger brings me great distress. You need not beg my forgiveness: you already have it, and will always have it ~~for something so utterly outside of your control~~. I ask only that you not allow yourself to enter into a claim. The thought of someone holding that ~~over me~~ over us is singularly painful. My poor love! I am sorry not to be there to bring you comfort, even after the fact._

__

_I imagine that the Army’s policy will extend to the rest of your service? I pray this is not so, but I will assume the worst until I hear from you._

__

_Your devoted wife, now and always,_

_Ellie_

Will opens it in his hiding spot behind the washhouse, and it is good that he does it out of sight from the rest of his unit because he cannot stop the tears of relief that well up as he takes it in.

When at last he stands and pulls his uniform into order, he feels a touch more stable. Ellie forgives him: Ellie still loves him. _And_ , he tells himself as he walks back to the barracks, _when I get back I will still be able to look her in the eye_.

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged as rape/non-con because this centers around some extremely dubious consent. Basically, Will Schofield is a male omega who enlists as a soldier thinking he'll get to go home to his wife for his heats, only to find out that that will not be the case; he has to figure out an alternative quickly. There is no physical violence in this story.


End file.
